I would not say my earliest memory was of having a sense of being the wrong gender - my earliest memory is of being sent to the hated "farmyard table" at playschool for willful naughtiness. I was (I still am) an only child, a bit "self contained", to put a positive spin on things, and gender itself was not something I was acutely aware of. One of my earliest and strongest memories is of a small, hand knitted bunny in a pink tutu that I carried everywhere. Everywhere, that is, until my older cousin and his friend mocked me at Sunday school aged about 4 1/2. I ran home in tears. That was when I became aware that there was behaviour that was not acceptable for boys. Poor ballerina bunny was consigned to the depth of a wardrobe.
The first time I really felt like something was wrong was aged around 7. We were at a family friend's around Christmas time when her niece (also 7) came to visit. She was wearing a party dress which was something I'd never really seen before. It had a black ballerina top and three short tulle layers of dark purple / brown velvet(esque). I realised at that moment that I would never wear something like that and would never look pretty and felt such a sense of loss.
Like many children I would tell myself stories in my head as I fell asleep. These increasingly took on a recurrent theme of one of my heroes from tv and cartoons being captured by their arch nemesis. Being technologically transformed into a woman in an attempt to humiliate them and break their spirit. This would back fire as the hero(ine) would retain / regain their previous vigour but also embrace their new femininity and come out stronger overall. Odd I know but please remember this was the eighties, there was a dearth of good female role models so maybe I had to make them (poor Jean-Michelle Vincent).
I was young for my year and 11 when I started high school. Every second Sunday I largely had the house to myself. I was in the bathroom. A black negligée of my mothers had been hung out to dry to the day before on a frame on the bath. I checked the door was locked then slipped out of my clothes. I picked the nightie up. My heart was beating like I was running a marathon. I pulled it on and turned to look at the full length mirror. An explosion of emotions. Fear joyguilt, a fleeting happiness over a crushing sadness. I turned left, right, not admiring myself, just watching myself. I took it off. Re-hanged it carefully. I went upstairs to the sitting room, curled up on the couch and burst into tears. Exhausted, I slept, curled in that position for the rest of the afternoon.
As testosterone began to flow my fantasies of personal change and affirmation became, inevitably, sexualized. Feminisation and forced feminization by an unknown, young, usually female archetype was the core model. When my parents were out for the night and my grandmother safely in bed I would experiment with dresses, skirts and indeed underwear. On the days when I had the house to myself I would wear a bra, panties and tights under my clothes and carry on normally. That felt oddly nice.
University was not as easy as high school I failed 2nd year exams twice and so had to resit the entire year. I cited depression as my reason for failing 2nd year which in retrospect was considerably more accurate than I let on to myself at the time. As I my mood got lower and lower my motivation dropped away. Simultaneously my desire to be a woman became stronger. I attributed this to a self deceiving escapism. As my bedroom was the living room my only outlet was the Internet and like many with transgendered feelings I gravitated toward written tg erotica.
My feelings would continue to wax and wane. At a number of points I began to allow my mannerisms to gradually feminize in preparation for exploring gender more drastically. Each time, however, I would think about the effect on my granny, my parents, my aunts and uncles in our small community who were all so proud of me, obligation. I met the woman who would become my wife in third year. She moved in in my final year and I loved her. I still do. I convinced myself through all that my transgender feelings were a sexual kink that could be kept at bay with the sin of onan. However I would research psychological theories of trangenderism at the university, I learned about SRS and FFS and the harry Benjamin standards of care. I convinced myself that I was a transvestite who sought validation for his deviancy in the possibility of being a transsexual. The truth is, I suspect, entirely the opposite.
So here I am about to start Doctoral research and my wife has a good job. My wax / wane denial cycle continued but something changed recently. The European Working Time Directive medical exemption clause had expired Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.........huh! Where was, I yes, EWTD this meant I couldn't be worked to death anymore. It also meant that I had these bizarre "off" weeks would appear periodically in my rota. I realized that in office hours... I had privacy. I had begun to follow various transition vlogs on YouTube that were often accompanied by photo montages showing the dramatic progress these transwomen had made. I started reading information and support sites again and the bios of "successful transwomen". I began to feel a need to express something feminine like I hadn't felt in years. I wanted to dress again. Even just once. I now had privacy, a fairly large disposable income and a huge anonymous city to buy things in.
I acquired more and more female clothng. I began to spend the entire working day at home dressed, changing just before five when my wife would get home. I tentatively emailed one of the higher profile transwomen online. She replied. This was a watershed moment. In however small and disguised a way I had confessed my feelings to another human being. The masculine construct I had built since the rejection of poor ballerina bunny all those years ago began to fracture and detach from my core personality. Wow that sounds melodramatic even to me.
Being a good, miserable scot the downside soon kicked in. From previously feeling ok about my body shape I began to feel lumpen and ugly. The initial sense of relief at the crystalisation of my transsexual feelings has brought a layer of complication and guilt to my life and thoughts. And my poor wife, how can I put her through any of this, she thinks everything is the best it's been right now. Can I really, seriously transition?
And so... I am going for My first visit to a Dr who specializes in transgender issues a week on Friday, if anyone interested i'll tell you how i get on
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Thank you for reading this. Sorry if it meanders or goes on
Laura
